


five scenarios with girl!cesc/robin

by vlieger



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger





	five scenarios with girl!cesc/robin

i.

Robin only notices her because she looks so out of place. Done up, sure, but her makeup is smudged about the eyes, little spots of kohl escaped and dotted over the edge of her cheekbones, and when she ducks her head into the right light, he can see scattered patches of freckles through her uneven foundation: a strange, washed-out shimmer.

When she sees Robin coming she scrubs a thin hand, all protruding veins and chipped black polish, through her already pushed-back hair, and sucks the straw of her sickly-coloured drink into her mouth. "Aren't you a little young to be here?" he asks, because, well. Her eyes are very wide. 

"I'm old enough to be anywhere I want to be," she retorts. Robin blinks. Her voice is thick and accented and brash. "Are you hitting on me?" she adds, tilting her head. 

"I," says Robin. 

The girl smiles at him, bright and open and unaffectedly inviting. 

When Robin kisses her she tastes of flavoured lipstick and too-sweet alcohol and some softer, warmer thing, like days in the sun, fresh air and sweat. 

 

ii.

She jumps on Robin's back when they play football. 

She says, "Your legs are too long, it's not fair," and twines her arms around his neck, elbows bumping against his jaw, knees digging sharp into his sides. He says, "How am I supposed to play like this?" and then, "How are _you_ supposed to play?" and she leans forward to press a smacking kiss to his cheek, smiling as she says, "We're playing, Robin, _we're_ playing," and slides her palms up to cover his eyes, fingertips brushing the edge of his hairline, shouting, "Run, run, I'll be your eyes," and giggling uncontrollably. 

"No," he says, and stops. "Cesc."

"Yes," she whispers, breath hot against his cheek. "Robin. Come on." She arches her neck, lips catching on the corner of his mouth. 

"I'll fall and crush you," he says weakly. 

"I'm not that fragile," she scoffs. "You're not that big." She giggles again. 

Robin rolls his eyes. "Francesca Fàbregas Soler, you're going to get us both killed."

"Am not," she says. "It's just football. I'm good at it, look, listen, the ball's about two feet ahead of you, a little to your left." She digs her knees harder into his sides. 

When he scores, the ball whirring square into the back of the net, she manoeuvres awkwardly around so she's clinging to his front, blunt nails scraping the back of his neck, and kisses him, open-mouthed and smiling, pressed close and hot, a rough, delicate little weight in his arms. 

Robin holds her, forearms sweeping parallel to her spine, knees crusted in dirt, and kisses back, soft to her sharp.

 

iii.

"Robin," Cesc shouts from the bathroom. He sounds panicked. His voice is very high. 

Robin rolls onto his back. The morning light is muted, a rainy shade of pale through his eyelashes. The sheets are too cold against his bare skin. "What," he says, throatily. 

"Robin, this isn't, I'm not-- " A pause. "Oh my God. Oh my _God_ , Robin, Robin --"

"What," says Robin again, swinging his legs out of bed, bare feet against frosty floorboards, "Cesc, seriously, are you." He stops short at the bathroom door. 

"Robin," says Cesc in a small, frightened voice. 

"You," says Robin. He blinks. "Are you-- what did you do? Cesc?"

"Nothing," says Cesc miserably, "Nothing, Robin, I just. I got up to use the bathroom, and then I, and there wasn't, I couldn't." He stops, biting down on his lip. 

Robin stares. It's not, it's still Cesc, but Cesc with a softer jaw, and smooth cheeks, and finer, more shaped eyebrows arching over his eyes. His shoulders aren't quite so broad, and his hips are slimmer, and there's a slight swell dipping outwards from his chest, beneath his shirt. 

"What do I do? Robin?" Cesc's eyes are huge, unchanged. 

Robin steps close, slowly, and touches a finger to the delicate-looking spot where his (her?) jaw hinges. The skin is very, very soft, and when Robin tilts his hand to cup over the side of his neck, Cesc's pulse is thudding beneath his palm, drum-beat hard, and hot. "I don't know," he says. 

Cesc's mouth is open, wet, and oh so lost.

 

iv. 

He's cornered, somewhere not too far from the Camp Nou, he thinks, he hopes, by a slim, rumpled-looking girl in a Barcelona jersey, hanging loose over her frame. She grins at him, sharp and smug. "Uh," says Robin. 

"You're lost, aren't you?" says the girl, head cocked to the side. 

"A little," he says. "Maybe."

"I'll help you," says the girl. 

"Oh," says Robin, "Thank--"

"If you sign my shirt," she adds. 

"I." Robin blinks. "It's a Barcelona shirt."

"I know that," says the girl. 

"I don't play for Barcelona," says Robin slowly. 

"I know that, too." The girl's eyes are bright. She steps closer to Robin. 

"Okay," says Robin. "As long as you." He stops. The girl's hiked up the jersey and pulled the fabric of the white top she's wearing underneath away from her stomach. 

"I can't have your signature on my Barca jersey," she explains. 

"No," says Robin. He swallows a laugh. "No, of course not." 

He takes the pen caught between her fingers with one hand and holds the shirt steady with the other, knuckles bumping against the smooth, bare ridge of her hipbone. When he looks up the girl's still watching him, dark eyes shining beneath her sweeping lashes, a little smile still curled at the corners of her mouth. 

"Thanks," she says. 

Robin nods. 

"I can show you back to the stadium now, if you like," she says. 

"Yeah," says Robin. He doesn't move. There's some fresh, clean scent clinging to the girl, a little like grass but not quite. 

"Okay," says the girl, softly. 

She holds very still when Robin ducks down to kiss her, one light hand lifting to rest over his elbow, and her kiss is wet, her teeth stinging against his lower lip.

 

v. 

"Cesc," says Robin firmly. "You're drunk. You're very, very drunk."

Cesc turns to look at him, eyes wide, surprised. "No, I'm not," he says. 

"You are," says Robin. Cesc's cheeks are flushed, pink like they get towards the end of a training session, or a match, only it's cold in here, the window open a third of the way, and when he turns his head back towards the mirror the light glances off some muted shimmer painted along his cheekbones. "You're drunk."

Cesc dabs fussily at one of his eyes and turns back to tilt his head curiously at Robin. He's silent for a long moment, just watching, and then he nods agreeably, a little disappointed twist to his mouth. "Sure," he says. "Okay. I'm drunk."

Robin lets out a long breath and steps up behind him. "What are you doing?" he says quietly. 

He feels Cesc's shoulder blades shift as he shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "It feels kind of cool."

"Okay," says Robin carefully. He watches Cesc's reflection, the thick lines of black sweeping across the tops of his eyelids, the way his lashes curve upwards even as he slits his eyes most of the way closed. 

"Does it look stupid?" says Cesc.

Robin blinks. Their eyes meet in the mirror. "No," he says, and swallows. "No, it's." He reaches around to curl a finger under Cesc's chin, tilt his head first one way, then the other. Cesc's eyes flutter closed, his throat working beneath Robin's hand. Robin moves his finger to trace, as light as he can make it, along the precipice of Cesc's jaw. It feels strange, some over-soft, powder-like texture to Cesc's skin beneath the rough, uneven layer of stubble. 

Cesc makes a noise in his throat and tips his head back, eyes open, bright, mouth wet. Robin kisses him without thinking and Cesc laughs into his mouth, turning and spreading his legs so Robin can crowd closer, and says, "I knew you'd like it," and, "I'm too pretty for it to look stupid."


End file.
